


From a Father Point of View

by acuteneurosis



Series: Through the Eyes of the Beholder [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Memories, Regret, Second Chances, Sibling Bonding, Turns Out We're Related, bed time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acuteneurosis/pseuds/acuteneurosis
Summary: A collection of one-shots, behind-the-scenes moments from For Want of a Skywalker from a Dark Lord/Father point of view. Separated from the main text because really, For Want was supposed to be lighthearted and funny over all and one cannot get into Vader's head and be there for more than ten seconds before he is depressing and dark and sad. Even when he is being around Luke.But that doesn't mean some of this won't be utterly adorable.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker
Series: Through the Eyes of the Beholder [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671883
Comments: 92
Kudos: 452





	1. Like Our Dreams

Vader stared at his son, utterly perplexed at what to do. The boy was tiny and looked so fragile. He was clean now, better than when he had been covered in that slaver filth. Dressed properly, at least as much as could be arranged on a military transport on short notice. He’d been fed, had had probably too much fruit but didn’t seem to be harmed by it.

And right now he was curled up on Vader’s chest, eyes blinking with sleepiness as he fought to prove he could stay awake.

Vader thought about cheating, making sleep a Force suggestion. But he was reluctant to do that to his son for a host of reasons. Not the least of which being if he started using the Force, even only slightly, to move things around in Luke’s head, the boy might remember him. And what he had done. And Vader would lose this perfect moment.

Not worth it. Especially since the boy seemed to be falling asleep quite nicely all on his own.

“‘Ader,” Luke mumbled, and Vader gave himself two whole seconds to pretend it was not his name, but “father,” before he put that thought safely aside to reminisce on at a better time. “I s’eepy.”

“It is past time for you to sleep,” Vader pointed out, making sure to be gentle as he made soothing motions across Luke’s back. “You should be sleepy.”

“Don’ wanna,” Luke grumbled, hands curling in Vader’s cape. “Wanna stay here.”

He had been less than enthused to realized that he would be sleeping in the bed in the other room. It was necessary. While it was unlikely to do the boy harm short term, Vader would be meditating in his hyperbaric chamber, per usual, and that was probably a bit much for a normal person to deal with overnight. Especially such a small person.

Trying not to be disappointed (he’d missed so much, and here was a chance for him to sleep next to his little son), Vader accepted that his choices had made him like this and as such, Luke’s disappointment was simply a just punishment for his failure to be a good father.

If he’d done better, stayed with Padmé, maybe it would have been allowed. But not anymore. Not when Vader had stolen his son’s mother from him. “I would like you to stay as well, but you will not be comfortable if you sleep here. And it is not safe.”

“Am comforbl. Is safe. You safe.”

Only a few months ago, Luke had… had let go, of everything, to escape Vader because he’d been sure what his father wanted would destroy him, so completely it was better to destroy himself.

Now, Luke was curled against his father and felt safe.

If he could, Vader would have wept with relief.

“You are too young to stay here in the chamber all night.”

Luke looked up, sleepily considering this. “Can stay when I bigger?”

Well, it would probably be inconvenient, and possibly still unwise. And there was the question of when would he be bigger, and would he remember or like Vader when that time came? But, “Yes. If you want.”

“I want.”

Vader held onto that thought, cradled it and the feelings that came with it when he woke in the middle of the night, wheezing, burning eyes unable to cry, having dreamed of Bespin.


	2. Caring

Luke touched his face with soft, small fingers, tracing the lines of scars and wrinkles, brows furrowed and lips pouting. Vader stared into those blue eyes and just breathed, memorizing them so that he could remember what they really looked like when he put his mask back on.

“You hurted,” Luke’s voice trembled and his fingers shook and Vader felt sadness for his son’s grief, pulsing in the Force, and pure bliss at the touch of those little hands, tracing kindness onto skin that had barely seen the light of day in over twenty years.

“I was hurt a long time ago, Luke,” he managed to say after the emotions around him had been processed. “You can see where it happened, but there is no pain anymore.”

A lie of sorts. There was no pain where Luke was touching. There was pain almost everywhere else. There was pain in his heart, and miles and miles and years and years of guilt. But he would say anything to comfort his son. His son who sat here, comforting him.

The little hand traced the dark circles under Vader’s eyes as Luke said, “’S still hurt. ’S no’ better.”

Anguish and love in those hands. Vader kept absorbing, forgoing his shields, instead drinking in Luke’s feelings. It was dangerous, Vader knew, to himself. But he would collect every ounce and memory of his son that he could. He had no intention of letting Luke escape, saw no problem with raising his son to be a man again, of using this second chance. But some instinct, real or just the habit of so many disappointments, didn’t trust that this would last forever. So he savored and savored while he could.

This. This moment. Just this.

 _I love you_.

It wasn’t words. Not something that was being spoken. And it wasn’t necessarily personal either. This Luke was young, had latched on to someone who had shown him kindness and offered him safety. Had wanted to offer that kindness in return. It was the flavor of that kind of love.

But coming from his child, Vader _did not care_. If he died in this moment, like this, his whole life would be worth it.

Except that would endanger Luke. And he couldn’t have that.

And as long as Luke was here, Vader could keep collecting these memories.

Standing on Vader’s lap, balancing with his hands on either side of Vader’s head, Luke began showering tiny baby kisses there, muttering nonsense words of something he only half remembered. It was love. Love and hope and healing and it would be poison later when Vader was alone and remembered it.

But he kept it for now. For now, he kept it and cradled his son in his arms, committing to memory each and every one of those kisses and the kindness that came with them.


	3. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this one is maybe a little bit one of my favorites.

“V’ader.”

There’s an insistent tugging at his cloak, which is partially trapped beneath him, but Vader dutifully ignores it. He needs to be with Luke, to make sure that he is alright. But there is also work to be done and Vader scans the datapad in front of him, ignoring the louder, more forceful, “V’ader!”

The tugging continues but Vader is not distracted. He does not even notice the rolling litany of, “V’ader, V’ader, Vader, Vader, Vader, Vader…” that is not quite in sync with the persistent tugging he definitely does not feel under his leg.

He had not read the same sentence twice. He absorbed it the first time.

“Va. Der!”

It’s a Forceful yank, and now Vader _is_ obligated to give Luke his attention, but just to scold him because he can’t be distracted and-

There’s a resounding chorus of _up-up-up_ in the Force, and Luke’s arms are outstretched, almost as high as his smile is wide. It takes maybe two seconds before Vader caves (and that’s a generous guess) and pulls the boy up.

After all, it’s not like he can’t read while Luke sits in his lap.

But Luke doesn’t sit down. He immediately starts climbing, trying to make his way onto Vader’s shoulder, that _up-up-up_ still singing around them, and Vader can either grab Luke to put him down, or support him and help him up, because if Vader does nothing his son is going to _fall_ and the floor is durasteel and Luke will be _hurt_ and…

There’s a lot of wriggling as Luke first gets onto Vader’s shoulder, then across the back of his neck. It can’t be comfortable. The crest of the helmet is sitting against the boy’s stomach, but Luke is giggling, so Vader just tries to hold very still, shifting a bit and holding an arm up so that he can grab Luke if the boy suddenly falls. It’s not what Vader imagined, but he can still read like this, and Luke will be happy and-

_Up-up-up_.

It doesn’t stop.

Because Vader is, really is, trying to get his work done it takes him a full minute, maybe two (that’s probably being very generous) to realize what it is that Luke wants.

“I am working, Luke,” Vader says as his child flops forward, weight pressing against the back and top of the helmet. “I need to read this.”

“Wanna fly,” Luke says, patting the helmet and making things echo oddly inside. “Pleez.”

It’s the please. Vader almost says no, almost manages it, but Luke had said please. And they’d been practicing.

“Just for a moment.”

Vader stands, hands wrapped carefully around his son’s ankles, and makes a short circuit of the room. Luke is giggling, and when he goes, “A’gen!” Vader is a lost cause. Just twice more, he tells himself. He really is working.

But the second time around the room Luke is making whooshing noises, and starts leaning into the turns, and it’s maybe thirty seconds (but really, that’s so generous it’s basically a lie) before Vader starts leaning into the turns too, gauging his speed based on Luke’s sounds and dipping and swerving more with each circuit.

It’s forty minutes later (and that’s a low estimate) when Vader, dizzy and a bit disoriented, lifts Luke down, promising they can play again later, but now he really, really needs to work.

This time, Luke curls up on his lap and naps, and Vader definitely does not take twice as long as normal to read, regularly distracted by checking on his son.


	4. Stolen Moments

It wasn’t a nightmare, really. Vader’d had nightmares, bad ones, his whole life. Ones of the future, and the past. It was the real ones that were the worst for him. Nothing odd shaped or out of place was ever worse that what he really was or what had really been.

But he’d dreamed the rooms that were supposed to be filled with the light of his son were empty, and because Luke had almost escaped two days ago, almost been stolen by the princess, it was too close to reality for Vader to ignore just by waking.

He’d felt Luke the moment he’d opened his eyes, sensed his son calm and sleeping, filling the rooms on this floor.

But Vader was nothing if not thorough, so he’d stood up, shaken off the stiffness and the pain, and made his way to the door, masking his presence as much as he could and guiding the door open as silently as possible.

Luke was there, curled up on the bed, the princess snuggled up against him. The faint light from the other room didn’t mix well with Vader’s red lenses, but he could see the rise and fall of Luke’s breathing, hear his light snores and the tiny almost whimpers coming from the princess.

The blanket must have slipped. It was down around his son’s waist, and Vader moved it, lifted it carefully so that they would both be covered again and she wouldn’t wake his son. Eventually her noises calmed to their own level of even breathing.

She was cute like this, Vader had to admit. It was hard to look at her, most of the time. To be reminded of his professional, and personal failures. It’d been impossible with her working in the senate for so many years to not regularly trip over memories that were best left forgotten.

And she’d tried to steal his son. Tried to take his Luke away.

He was begrudgingly impressed that she had noticed in the first place. No one else had.

Oh, they’d been surprised he’d found a boy named Luke, but they hadn’t _believed_ it.

She had.

The building emotions were cutting through his shielding, and Vader reigned in as Luke stirred slightly. He quieted again, but Vader made himself put those thoughts aside. He needed peace here, if he was going to watch over his son.

There was something sweet in the moment. Luke did so well with the princess. Vader would believe it if someone told him Luke was good with all children, but there was a special bittersweet tang to Vader getting to witness this.

As he stood in the dark, in the quiet, and just tried to let things _be_ he could almost imagine…

Luke would be a good brother.

The thought had skipped into Vader’s mind off and on since this had started. He’d always pushed it away, refusing to let himself be confused by those wanderings. The princess was not actually a child, and Luke was rather old for such a young sister (although it wouldn’t have been _impossible…_ ).

And his treacherous mind suddenly asked Vader if Padmé hadn’t died, how many children would they have had? She’d had a sister, they probably would have expected at least two, he could probably have convinced her to at least try three. She would have been for it. A real challenge.

They’d have had Luke first, of course, but maybe their next _would_ have been a dark haired, brown eyed daughter. Close to Luke’s age. She wouldn’t have been a princess, but she could have been a senator, like her mother.

And then…

Not quite a vision, but not quite as vague as just imagination, Vader sees a procession of children float before his eyes. There’s a dark haired, brown eyed son and a gold haired, blue eyed daughter first, but soon there are mixes of dark eyes and blonde hair, or blue eyes with brown. Some have Padmé’s nose, others have his chin. He can see a bit of Shmi Skywalker, or other feature’s from Padmé’s family switched out and mixed with his own. Some are tall, dwarfing Luke and making his son laugh. Others are short, even shorter, snuggling up under their brother’s arm.

There are boys and girls and faces and forms he can’t be sure of and doesn’t _care_ because they’re all _his_. His and Padmé’s and they’re darling and sweet, and sturdy and strong, and bright eyes and keen intellect and glowing in the Force, a shining beacon within it. And they all belong to him.

“ _Come away with me.”_

And it’s over.

Just like that, the light is gone, the warmth, and in its place is a hole. The hole, created by when he- he-

He’d killed Padmé. And destroyed this future and any like it.

He just had Luke. Luke, his son was all he had left, and that was it. Because of what he’d done.

It was too painful to look at the princess now. Too painful to stay. It would only be moments more that he could keep his feelings in check, and if he lost control Luke would wake up.

Wake up and ask-

Why?

And Vader couldn’t answer that. Couldn’t tell Luke what he’d stolen from them when he’d taken Luke’s mother away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my stress response is to post more fic so that people can leave notes and we can all be emotional and messy and sad and happy together. Apart.


	5. Royal Affection

It was hard not to constantly realize that she was a princess. Vader looked at her and looked at her and stared, sideways hidden behind the mask, and even in borrowed Imperial casual wear, it was clear that royalty was what she _is_.

She was also adorable with Luke.

Her hair was slipping from the most casual braid he’d ever seen her wear, one strand hanging just between her eyes as she knelt on the floor and smiled, sketching pictures with Luke. It wasn’t great art, but she’d clearly had training, practice. Probably as part of her princess duties. The trees she was drawing had different shapes and came in different sizes, and he expected she knew the names of each one and why they are tucked among each other in the particular way they are.

Then he thought that it was probably Alderaan, and something squeezed inside of him.

He hadn’t meant for that to happen. The impact in the Force had almost brought him to his knees. Had left him sufficiently shaken that even when he had been facing Obi-Wan he had still been recovering from the effects of it.

It was more pride than morality that had seen him arguing against the Death Star. Vader had never destroyed a planet in one go, had never seen the need for it. But if anyone had asked him if he could, had challenged him, he would have tried it. Probably would have succeeded eventually, after a few minutes. Or hours. It would have depended on the planet’s size and its internal workings and how long it took him to find the right bits to move to build maximum pressure…

But he’d never _done_ it. And would never have considered Alderaan the target of trying it. People lived there, many young and innocent, even if the whole planet was functionally a rebel cell. It wasn’t needed. They could have been won over to the Empire’s side. Could have seen what it would have been like with peace-

Alderaan had known peace. Alderaan had always known peace. And Alderaan’s queen and prince consort had privately but surely gone to war against the Empire. Because they had believed it was right.

In that shattered moment, where blue and green and white had become black space, for that brief second, Vader had agreed with them.

He wondered if he would have let her go, if the princess had been anguished or enraged instead of going numb and letting him escort her back to her cell. He knew he should have at least said something, snide as a representative of the Empire she had mocked, kind as a man who had too once lost everything (but never quite that much).

What he had offered her was silence. And a cell.

“This one,” Luke said, holding out the red, and Leia took it, something almost wicked in her eyes. Before Luke could guess she was up to something, the princess had pounced, dragging him close and making Luke screech.

Vader forced himself to not intervene, and then not to smile as the princess started scribbling over Luke’s face. Since most of Luke’s protests were interrupted by giggles, Vader let it go, and was even amused when the princess handed over the marker when she was finished, and pointed at her own cheek.

“Here,” she said, and Luke immediately went to work, drawing star spots and the strange collection of lines that Vader had learned meant a spaceship. She didn’t complain when the tip skidded by her eye, or even went it went up a nostril. She’d just giggled, and moved it over, letting Luke make nonsense marks all over her face.

Eventually a chrono pinged and Vader stood. “Time’s up, Your Highness.”

Leia. He should call her Leia. It would be a power play. It would be polite. It would be-

Too damn familiar. And he couldn’t face the implications of that right now.

(It was his way of remembering her home, and his part in what had been done to it. She was the princess of a people, not a planet. And even if the people left were her and only her, she still would have that authority wrapped around her like a robe, painted on her features, crowned and framing her head like gold and-)

She didn’t argue this time, just leaned in and kissed Luke, ruffling his hair and giving him a tight hug. “I love you,” she told him. She always told him. She repeated it over and over like a mantra, like it was supposed to mean something, supposed to save him.

If nothing else, it was true. In every word and repetition, Vader could feel it.

And he knew Luke could too.

“Love you,” Luke whispered, kissing Leia’s cheek and smearing some of the marks on it. “Bye bye.”

“See you soon,” she said, making her way back into her room, not even looking at Vader.

He didn’t take it personally. He didn’t.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t earned it.

“V’ader,” Luke scrambled over to him once the door had been closed and locked. “Can I see?”

He pointed to his face and Vader sighed, trying to think of what he had in the room that was reflective enough. Finding something, he held it up so Luke could look at what Leia had scribbled. And couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh at her audacity or cry at how it haunted him.

She’d mirror written, “I love you, Luke,” on the boy’s face, signed with her initials. After a long internal struggle, Vader forced himself to read out exactly what it said, the words tasting like acid on his tongue.

He wasn’t completely sure, but he got the feeling Luke knew even though Vader had said them, they weren’t his words at all.

No matter how much he wanted them to be. It was too dangerous. For them both.


	6. Instincts

The first time Vader heard a sort of faint blurt from the other room, he ignored it. Leia was up and playing with Luke, and that always involved some amount of noise. The second and third times distracted him enough that he left the work he was trying to catch up on and eased the door open silently, holding it mostly closed so that he wouldn't be noticed.

Luke was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the hyperbaric chamber, smiling in a way that made Vader almost giddy and also ached fiercely in his heart.

The tiny princess was giggling madly, her hands covering her mouth as if she was trying to stop the sounds. She tiptoed forward two steps, reached out, and grabbed Luke's nose, and Vader's son made a noise like an irate eopie. And the princess collapsed into giggles again.

This went on for several more minutes, and while he had no business doing so, Vader definitely stayed and watched. It wasn't actually a waste of time. Luke switched sounds when the princess grabbed his ear or poked his chin or tugged his hair. Vader was just dutifully cataloguing all of the animal noises his son could make so that if Luke ever tried to use them for signals Vader wouldn't be deceived.

It was perfectly logical. And necessary.

And if something in the Force sang around them every time the princess burst into giggles, Vader was the only one who needed to know about _that_.


	7. Immutable Truth

She was staring at him. Just staring, as if she could see right through him, past the armor and the rotted body and the wiring into the ragged remains of his soul.

No child should have a look like that.

“Make her stop,” he said, earning a frown from Luke when he glanced at the princess and noticed she wasn’t doing anything.

“Stop what?”

“Staring,” was what Vader wanted to say. But that meant admitting, more than he already had, that he was bothered by it. By the uncanny steadiness of it.

So instead he said, “Pouting.”

Luke snorted. “You’re the one that grounded her. You make her stop.”

“If I knew how,” Vader grumbled, “I already would have done it.”

Luke shrugged. “It’s not like I know how to do it.”

Fair. While the princess was more than happy to play with his son, or chatter at him, or steal food off his plate, she didn’t accept correction from him any better than she did from Vader. At least, not for things she didn’t think she was doing wrong. But, “You could at least try.”

Now Luke’s anger snapped in the Force, sharp and hard for a bright moment, before it settled down into grumpy irritation. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past hour?”

He’d prodded and teased and made faces and sounds at the little princess. Had tugged at those arms, folded sternly across her chest, waved a hand in her face which did at least make her blink and lean back. But the rest of the time her eyes had remained fixed on Vader, no matter where he moved in the room or what he did. While he’d been working on Threepio he’d mostly been able to ignore it. Now that he was done it was impossible not to notice. And she’d been spending an hour practicing it.

“Are children supposed to stay still like that?”

“What makes you think I know?” Luke seemed torn between a laugh and exasperation. “I haven’t been around that many kids before. Definitely not recently.”

“Not a staple feature of the rebellion?” Vader found himself half sneering rather than just teasing, and regretted it when his son stiffened.

Things had been getting worse since he’d refused to let the princess out anywhere else on the ship. Luke was still objecting to it. In obvious and more subtle ways.

“It’s hard to raise a family when you’re on the run from the most dangerous man in the Empire.”

Which stung a little, but Vader had a ready shield for this wound. “I was chasing you, not them.”

“They didn’t know that. And it didn’t stop you from killing them.”

Painful. When his son said those words it was so painful, for both of them. Vader did not regret, well mostly didn’t regret, the things he had done in pursuit of his son. Clearly handing Solo over to Fett had been a bad idea. It had put Luke in serious danger, and Vader should have foreseen that.

But… But…

But like so many things it became a question of how far back would he need to go, to amend his ways, before he could safely reclaim his son without having taken so many lives? How many years and choices would he need to carve off of his life and would it even matter?

Perhaps the most bitter truth was him burning on Mustafar and realizing then, that day, those days, he’d made his worst mistakes. And now the cost was he had to live with them.

That Luke had to live with it. Living with Darth Vader, not Anakin Skywalker, as his father.

The princess whimpered and Vader’s attention snapped to her, watched her lip tremble as she continued to look at him, slightly hunched over as she did so.

Her eyes met his and there was fear in them, fear coated in the red misted film that lingered over his eyes.

He hated the mask when it came to looking at Luke. He couldn’t stand to look at the princess without it. The truth of what she reminded of him was too much to face unless he was fully armored.

Which made her stubborn observation all the more painful a harassment. The resolution of it almost dismantled him.

(So much like _her_.)

“Leia, what’s wrong?” Luke at least wasn’t distracted. Even as he looked between the two of them, Vader’s son knew what his priorities were. What had to be done.

He loved Leia, so he had to take care of her.

Vader… hated her. And everything she represented or suggested. Everything that he had lost or given up.

So he had to face her, to bring his dignity back. Because that was all he had left.

Except Luke.

But if he wasn’t careful, he could lose Luke too, so Vader forced himself to move forward, to meet those brown eyes as they continued to watch him, wary and untrusting while he came forward. Sounds in the room told him Luke objected, but Vader ignored words in favor of emotions.

She was scared, but the princess wanted to face him, so she would.

Vader was scared, but had to face her, to prove he could.

She didn’t scream this time when he picked her up, didn’t kick or beat on his chest. Just sat on his arm, hands braced under his mask, staring at his face until she found his eyes through the red lenses, leaned in to meet his glare and glared right back.

For one horrifying, disorienting moment Vader thought he was looking back at himself.

Then everything came back into focus and the princess was still there and whatever Vader had experienced didn’t matter because somehow she’d found more courage and demanded, “I want to go _home_.”

_Home is here_ , was Vader’s first thought, and he pushed it back. His home was here, because here was with Luke, but that had nothing to do with the princess. But he didn’t say it. “You will stay on this ship, Princess. No matter how many times you make that request.”

“No.”

Such _finality_ in that tone. Part of him, the part that loved Luke and was still soft (too soft) and less astringent admired her in that moment. Reached out, in the Force, and touched that will, not to bend it but to bask in it. To feel the warm glow of it where it burned and did not give. There was something achingly beautiful in it. Something like a dream, almost remembered. Something like a life he had never lived. Something he had almost forgotten.

And then she pulled back and it was gone, hidden behind sheer defiance and resentment. “I am _going home_.”

Arms crossed again, her body waved as she tried to lean and keep her balance and she almost tipped back. Vader caught her, almost cradled her as he knelt and set her down, taking a final moment to meet her eyes. “No, Princess. This is your home now.”

And he felt the rightness of that, even as her whole body and soul screamed that he was wrong.

But it felt like a victory if he ignored the ache of defeat in Luke’s eyes. So he would have to take it.


	8. Searching

“Papa?” It was a sleepy voice and Vader almost despaired when he heard it. She was not supposed to be able to get out. “P-Papa?”

He hauled himself out of his chamber, limbs creaking in protest. He shouldn’t have taken his mask off. He really didn’t want to deal with this with his mask off.

Unfortunately, if he took time to put the mask on, she might _really_ get out.

“Princess,” he rasped, and the girl gasped, stumbling backwards as he loomed in the darkness. “You’re supposed to be in bed. With Luke.”

She was apparently terrified into immobility. Her usual protests were missing as he lumbered over, easing himself down so that he could pick her up. Which she did not resist.

Once she was safely in his arms, she seemed to find her words again. “I want Papa. Please.”

“No, Princess.”

“M-mama?” Her voice wobbled, her hands clutched at her clothes, like Luke’s did when he was anxious. If it wasn’t so painful to just be breathing, Vader might think about trying to comfort her.

“No, you cannot see your mother. We are going back to Luke.”

His throat hurt. It was never comfortable speaking, but he hated it more like this. His voice wheezed. He struggled to force the words. He never sounded like himself.

The vocoder didn’t sound like him either, but it was easier to pretend when he sounded strong.

“I want… Mama.”

There was a push to those words, they almost felt like-

Tired. He was so tired. He’d been trying to actually sleep when she’d interrupted.

“You may have Luke. You must go to bed.”

He made his way over to the door, wondering for the thousandth time how she’d gotten out. He wasn’t always paying close attention, but she’d gotten away more than once when Luke had been keeping an eye on her and neither of them had any idea how she’d done it. From everything they’d found on camera she’d just… walked away.

When the door slid open Luke stirred but didn’t wake. He was curled up under the blanket, almost pressed against the wall and Vader felt fondness and exasperation all at once.

His son. How had he _missed_ her crawling out of bed?

Ignoring the sniffles itching right next to his ear, Vader said, “Luke.”

It didn’t come out as strong as he had intended. His son groaned a little and curled in on himself more, muttering an almost indiscernible, “Two minutes…”

“Luke.” That one had more strength to it, but Vader’d had to pull on the Force. He was reaching the limits of what he could reasonably do unassisted. And he was damned if he was going to admit that and ask his son for help.

In front of the princess.

“’S still dark cold,” Luke grumbled, punching his pillow as he sat up and shook his head. “Uncle Owen-“ He stopped as he looked up, recognized where he really was. “Father.” Then he spotted the princess and scrambled up, reaching for her. “Sorry, I didn’t- How did she get out?”

“I don’t know. We’ll check in the morning.” If he remembered. He’d probably just forgotten to lock the door. Luke had promised he wouldn’t leave. Would keep the princess. For now.

Luke frowned, listening to the princess complain and ask for her mother. And father. And friends.

“I can’t. Find them,” Princess Leia hiccuped, burying her face in Luke’s shoulder. “It’s dark.”

There was a bleakness as she said the words that Vader recognized. A longing he’d felt from the adult princess when she thought about her planet being gone. Little Leia might not know, but apparently she could still feel it, that permeating sadness.

He… couldn’t think about it. It was too late. He needed to sleep.

“You. Have her?” The words were very hard, he hadn’t meant to slur them, but that was how they’d come.

Luke frowned and nodded. “I’ve got her. You look after yourself.” As Vader turned, “Do you need anything?”

“No. Just, keep her.”

There were probably better words, but he couldn’t bring them. He was focusing too hard on staying upright, drawing on the Force so he could just get back, get breathing…

The chamber sealed and Vader took several moments to breathe, slow and deep, pressing his head back against his chair and just trying to focus.

To pull on Luke’s bright warmth to chase away the darkness of Leia’s dreams.

That void still haunted him as he finally drifted off to sleep.


	9. Restitution

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

It was hard because they’d dimmed the lights in the med bay and his eyes weren’t as good as they used to be. If he leaned into the Force, which he was already doing, his vision became a bit clearer. He could almost make out the exact lines of her features, lit by the datapad in her hands. He was pretty sure she was frowning, and he knew that when she moved her hands to her face she was rubbing her eyes.

Tired. She had to be so tired.

_Twins_.

If he wasn’t hooked up to a dozen machines, Vader would have already given up on breathing. The thought continued to try and steal his breath away.

He looked down at Luke, curled up next to Vader, twitching in his sleep, the faint aura coming off of him suggesting he’s having unpleasant dreams. Vader didn’t move, but soothed in the Force, a habit he hadn’t practiced in decades. Eventually Luke’s movements slowed, then stopped, except for peaceful breathing. The dreams would come back, Vader was sure, but he’d just sooth them again.

It’s not like he’d be sleeping.

His gaze drifted back across the room and his eyes devoured the sight of her.

His _daughter_.

It would bring him so much joy if every time he thought it, it didn’t make him violently sick inside.

His daughter. His child. The things he had done to her…

If he could cry, he would be weeping.

Luke started twitching again and Vader reigned in his feelings, taking a moment to stare at his son and try and find peace so he could ease the fear and anxieties in the room.

Vader would have plenty of time to castigate himself, the rest of his life, for what he had done to Leia. But right now, he couldn’t let those feelings harm his son.

He couldn’t handle the weight of additional sins.

“You should be sleeping.”

She hadn’t looked up from the datapad, but Vader wasn’t surprised that she had noticed. For someone who had no formal training in the Force, Leia had grown by leaps and bounds in the weeks that she had been here.

Trapped. Alone. His fault.

_“I’ve never been of any use, or value, to you.”_

He ached, remembering those words. Remembering the look on her face. Remembering what he had said to provoke the sentiment, how he had responded after. How he had treated her, over and over, all the while coddling and cosseting her brother. Because he _loved_ Luke.

But Leia. He hadn’t even _noticed_. Not even when she’d broken through into the Force, blazing into his attention on the bridge, for the first time registering as what she really was.

But not who.

And he should have guessed, he should have. The Organas… Bail had been one of Padmé’s best friends. She and Vader hadn’t known about the twins, but Vader’d known Leia for almost two years before being exposed to the brilliant light that was Luke’s existence.

He should have known. His own daughter. He should have known.

What he’d done…

“Do you need me to move him? Will that make it easier?” It wasn’t exactly kindness in her tone, but there was some sort of softness there and Vader blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“Luke,” Leia said solemnly. “He keeps twitching. And flopping onto you. I can move him, if that will make it easier to breathe. So you can sleep.”

A flicker of fear, an instinctual reaction of vicious malice as an _enemy_ tried to take his _son_ -

His daughter. Leia was his daughter, Luke’s sister. She was…

She was offering to help.

She probably also wanted to get Luke away from him. They’d maybe been physically separated for a total of ten minutes since Vader had first woken. And for all that Leia had plans for him, Vader knew he didn’t have her trust.

Not… not in the way that he wanted.

“Here,” Vader managed to say. “Is fine.” If Luke was away, Vader couldn’t watch him. Couldn’t protect him from the dreams.

In the partial light, he couldn’t tell if her look was disdain or skepticism. “Alright, but if you don’t fall asleep soon, I’m taking him anyway. You won’t get better if you don’t rest. And none of us can catch you if you collapse in the middle of your coronation speech.”

That would be bad. He had to look powerful to take control. But Luke’s dreams… “I won’t. Fail.”

It sounded weak, as far as promises went. But he meant it. He would find a way, through the Force, to do this. To save them.

She sighed and actually came closer. The room lights were behind her now, her datapad was at her side. He couldn’t see any of the features of her face. But her touch was gentle as she stroked Luke’s cheek, and some of the energy around them softened, touched by her love for the little boy. Settling him even more.

She placed a kiss on his head, whispering, “I love you.”

Like a charm, the atmosphere lightened. Again.

She didn’t look at Vader. He couldn’t blame her. But she did say, “He’ll be sad, if you don’t take care of yourself. He can handle bad dreams, so you should go to sleep.”

How? How did she _know_? She could sense things, yes. Touch them, explore them. But to know what he did—

There was almost a smile in her voice as she added, “It wasn’t that hard to guess.” Flatter as she said, “You love him.”

There was such a careful non-inflection when she said “him,” it was like she had emphasized the word with screaming. Vader flinched. “He’s not. The only. One.”

It was weak. His voice was weak, his lungs were weak. He couldn’t even breathe deep enough to finish a full sentence. And the sentiment felt week, in the face of all he had done.

But he had to tell her. She had to know.

He didn’t just love his son.

She froze. Didn’t answer. Left him in that painful silence while moment after moment slipped by and he had to remember. Remember all the things that he had done.

And the one thing he hadn’t. His one saving grace.

“You’re not adding me to the speech,” she said at last. “You’ll need to have Luke, even if you can’t get his permission, because there needs to be a reason for the pardon. And for why he’ll be living in your pocket. But me-“ He could just make out the twitch of her hand. “I don’t want you to tell anyone.”

He managed a slightly stronger, “Promise.” Aching as he acknowledged what those words meant.

You’re Luke’s father, not mine.

No tears, he still couldn’t cry any tears.

But he did watch her as she settled back down, finished what she was working on, curled up in the most comfortable position she could manage in that ghastly chair, and fell asleep.

And when her breathing had evened and her mind was fuzzy in the grasp of sleep, he reached out with the gentlest brush of the Force to sooth her muscles, and her dreams. When he felt a warm glow of contentment from her slumber, then Vader finally slept.


End file.
